At First Sight of the Sun
by itsavolcano
Summary: When a film history professor is found murdered on the grounds of an abandoned asylum, Jane and Lisbon uncover a cold case over a hundred years old. - A case!fic that takes place in the same universe as "The Apathy That Has Made Us" with established Jisbon. Rated slightly T for a bit of lovin'.


This is chock full of self-indulgence that started as one thing and became something even bigger. Also, I had this planned before that _Casablanca _business.

_For once there is nothing up my sleeve_  
_Just some scars from a life that used to trouble me_  
_I used to run at first sight of the sun_  
_Now I lay here waiting for you to wake up_  
_("Sight of the Sun"; Fun.)_

At First Sight of the Sun

Teresa Lisbon was being watched. The sleuth sitting across the bullpen wasn't stealthy; she'd known eyes were on her the moment she sat down at her desk. Usually, Lisbon only felt like she was in a fishbowl in the conference room, with its floor-to-ceiling glass walls and strategic placement in the middle of the department floor. And while the senior agents had offices with floor-to-ceiling glass and could presumably watch everyone meander about, Lisbon seldom felt quite so exposed in the open bullpen. But, she was a trained law officer and she knew when she was being watched. She also knew better than to let on, deciding to wait out the prying eyes.

Behind her, Jane shifted on the leather sofa. He appeared asleep, but Lisbon knew he was faking. Had to keep up that "devil may care" attitude, lest anyone get the wrong idea. She rolled her eyes as she opened the bottom drawer of her file cabinet. Before she could drop her purse in, something caught her attention: something vibrant and beautiful—a cluster of blue violets in a small terra cotta planter. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her smile in check as she scooped the gift out of the drawer.

A small card was tucked behind the instructions ticket. _Blue violets: faithfulness and love. _She bit her cheek harder as she set the plant next to her desk phone. It was no use. She looked like a schoolgirl whose crush had left a note in her locker. But wasn't that what this was, after all?

Her cell phone chirped. _Good morning. _The smug bastard, she _knew _he'd been faking sleep.

"Hey, Jane." Her voice was a touch lighter than usual. _High voice, Lisbon. _

"That's a lovely posy." He was suddenly at her side, one hand curled on the back of her chair. "Secret admirer?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I guess. Or a creep with too much time on his hands." She typed her password, unlocking her computer. Jane tipped her chair back, not enough for people to notice, but enough to catch her by surprise. She squeaked.

"Maybe he needs a new hobby—something to fill up his time." His voice, low and thick like honey, was so close to her ear it sent shivers through her body and a soft blush along her cheeks. She forced herself to sit up straight, to act nonchalant as she fired up her email portal.

"Like crocheting?"

She felt, rather than saw, Jane's shrug as he pulled himself to his full height and cast a glance around the office. He was trying to appear unaffected by the closeness, but she could almost feel the air between them crackle with electricity.

"Not what I would have suggested, but yes, definitely something to occupy his idle hands." The suggestive tone in his voice brought unbidden flashes of memory to her consciousness. _Warm hands, long fingers moving with the deftness of a well-practiced magician. _ Her mouth went dry and her vision went hazy. She hoped she hadn't sent an incomplete email response to anyone, or accepted a meeting invite she didn't need…

"Briefing in five minutes." A disembodied British voice sounded through the bullpen, snapping Lisbon from her dazed state. Jane let go of her chair and she sprung forward, her feet back on the ground.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Wylie looked chagrined, rapidly typing code in his scheduler app, an upgrade from the clock app he'd developed months earlier. "That was louder than I expected. I was adjusting some modules earlier—like, I made her British and slightly less robotic. But the volume still needs tweaking, so I'll just…" Cho shot him a look and he paused. "Right, I'll just fix it. Silently. Over here."

Fischer appeared in the bullpen. Her observant brown eyes sized everyone up, her expression one of puzzled amusement when she landed on Jane and Lisbon. He still hovered behind her, his hand once again rested on the back of her chair. Fischer raised an eyebrow and Lisbon felt her cheeks grow warm. Jane didn't budge—in fact, it seemed as if he leaned in closer, daring Fischer to comment.

It had been five months since Lisbon had broken it off with Pike, and five months since Jane had confessed his feelings and held her while she cried. They agreed that they both needed some time (as if a decade hadn't been enough), so they'd spent months to just rediscover what it meant to be friends. This time, however, they were friends who touched, teased, and laughed more. It had been wonderful and Jane had felt himself coming alive again under Lisbon's warm care. He'd even entertained an afternoon of shopping, allowing her to pick out several new suits, dress shirts, a couple pairs of jeans, and a dark denim button-up that had caught her eye. He'd added a pair of cowboy boots and a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate just to make her laugh.

Three months after that confession-filled night in her kitchen, she watched with wide, watery eyes as he'd gently tugged off his wedding band and dropped it in the box of letters. She'd pulled him down to the sofa and held him while he cried against her, running her fingers through his hair.

"I _am _happy, you know that, right?" He'd wanted to reassure her, his lips pressed against her shoulder.

"I know." They had held each other until sleep took over.

Two weeks later, after a night of pizza, red wine, and a cheesy reality show neither of them paid attention to, Jane woke in Lisbon's bed. Legs tangled in sheets, he'd skimmed his fingertips down the length of her back, pleased when she'd shivered and curled into him.

"All these years, who'd have thought an episode of _Dance Moms_ would flip your switch?" Lisbon grinned as she placed a kiss on his shoulder.

"What can I say? I have thing for authoritative women who take no prisoners." She'd shrieked with laughter as he rolled her under him, relishing the sound as it turned to a moan.

Teresa Lisbon in his arms, under his lips and hands, had quickly become his new favorite obsession. It made him feel warm and whole, like standing under the sun after a long, cold winter. He felt alive, grounded. He felt like he had a purpose beyond being the guy tied to the Feds for five years.

They had managed to keep their new relationship quiet at the office, thanks to their already well-documented closeness. Cho knew, though. That much was obvious. Abbott probably knew as well, but had learned what battles to pick where Jane was concerned. Wylie was oblivious to anything that wasn't binary code.

And then there was Fischer. She'd found their relationship intriguing and confusing from the start—and Jane suspected it _did _look strange on paper—but his past with Lisbon wasn't any of her business. It would do no harm, putting her out of her misery by dropping some obvious hint, but frankly it was more fun watching her puzzle it out.

Which was exactly what she was doing right now, studying the lack of space between them, the bright violets on the desk, the adorable doe-eyed look Lisbon favored when trying to appear inconspicuous.

"Briefing's in two minutes." She nodded to the conference before turning on her heel. Lisbon jerked her chair out from under Jane's hand, and scooped up several manila folders. He fell in stride with her.

"Fischer knows," Lisbon whispered.

"Meh, Fischer only thinks she knows. She thought we were sleeping together at the start."

"How did you know that?" Lisbon stopped short and Jane nearly clipped her heels. He gave another shrug.

"You were _numero uno _on my list of demands. How could she think anything else?"

"Well, she's been watching me all morning."

"She's drawn to your radiant beauty," he smiled, pleased. "You're absolutely glowing."

"Shut up. What do you want, an award?" A dark gleam flashed in his eyes and Lisbon regretted her flippant words immediately. She really wished she wasn't so prone to blushing, as she remembered how he'd woken her up that morning with his lips coasting over her skin, hands sliding along the soft angles of her body, teeth gently nipping until she'd cried out… Her face grew warm. "Do _not _start," she hissed at him as Cho sauntered by, ignoring them.

"I should make tea. Show up fashionably late." Jane glanced longingly over her shoulder at the kitchenette.

"Uh, no. You're showing up on time." Lisbon grabbed the sleeve of his new black suit jacket and tugged him into the conference room.

"Teresa, please, no need to manhandle me. Where you go, I go _willingly_." Ever the showman, he directed his words to the room and not necessarily to her. She gave him a hard shove.

"Sit _down_, Jane."

"Such abuse, Lisbon. 'Bam, pow, to the moon!'" He swung a punch up in the air, flashing a wide grin before holding the chair in place as she sat.

Once everyone was sitting, the team turned to Abbott. The first image on the projector was a middle-aged man in a tweed jacket, in his early-40s, with hair prematurely grey. The next image was of the same man, face down in the dirt, dead from a rather obvious head wound. He was dressed in a suit similar to the one he wore in his identification photo. His hands were curled and seemed to grip at the earth.

"This is Malcolm Keller, professor of film history at Athens Community College in eastern Texas. He was found murdered near property the campus has been trying to acquire for a planned expansion. The dean is concerned the murder might be related." The last image was a wider shot of the crime scene, a sun-scorched embankment adjacent to a massively large multi-level brick building with a wide columned porch and double windows.

"Classical Revival style," Jane piped up. "Turn of the century. You don't see it 'round these parts."

"I somehow don't think Professor Keller cares so much about architecture, at least not anymore, Jane," Lisbon gave him a look.

"He was a fan of art. I'm sure he appreciated it at some point in his life, regardless of his tragic death," Jane offered.

Cho swiveled in his chair, so laid back he was practically on the floor. _Mr. Cool, _Jane thought with a small smile.

"Why's this a case for the FBI and not the local police?" Cho asked, as he continued to tilt back in his chair.

"They handled the preliminary investigation, but the land the college is acquiring—where the body was discovered—is still officially state-owned. The dean of the department is concerned the murder might be related. He said Keller had been spending more and more time up there. The transaction has been ten years in the making and a murder on the property could be a major set-back."

"Think Keller stumbled onto something?" Cho offered.

"That is a possibility."

"We could go undercover!" Jane shouted, alarmingly animated. "I'd make a great film history professor."

Lisbon snorted. "What do you know about film history?"

"Pop a movie in a DVD player, talk about the lighting and the camera angles, and how hard could it be? _Oranges represent death,_ blah, blah, blah." Jane waved a hand dismissively as Lisbon scrunched up her face.

"You're not going undercover, there's no need." Abbott's tone was firm and final.

"Spoilsport."

"But, you and Agent Lisbon _will _be traveling to Athens to talk to witnesses and review the crime scene, see if local authorities missed anything. According to various reports, he was well-liked and respected. The annual film festival is apparently getting underway this weekend, which he programmed, and his tenure had just been approved."

"Seems like a more likely motive than old land," Cho suggested.

"Possibly. He's the only film history professor in eastern Texas. It's not exactly a broad field of study—or so I've been told." Abbott's pause gave him away and Jane's face broke out into a large grin.

"Fan of the cinema, Agent Abbott? The ol' silver screen?"

"Who doesn't like movies?"

"I don't," Fisher interjected, with a shrug. Jane turned his body toward her, narrowed his gaze.

"Ah, sure you do. You love a good story, one full of mystery, intrigue, a little romance. One that leads you along, makes you figure it out yourself, spending hours just _staring _at all the breadcrumb clues." Lisbon nudged Jane under the table but he ignored her. "It's why you're a detective, all those sexy hard-boiled film noirs. Who wouldn't want to be a Sam Spade? Oh! Or Nick and Nora Charles!"

"Drunks?"

"Yes, but witty, _rich_ drunks who knew how to party."

"Nevertheless," Abbott interjected, regaining control of the meeting. "Jane and Lisbon, you'll head to Athens and talk to witnesses, faulty, students. Cho and Fischer will review the old list of candidates who were originally up for his position, see if any of them still had an interest. Take a look and see if anyone might be upset he was about to be tenured. Wylie, go through Keller's expenses and records, see if anything stands out. Any questions?"

Jane raised a hand. "Can I drive the Airstream?"

xXx

Lisbon slammed the door shut on her federally issued SUV. She had flat out refused to take the Airstream, claiming she'd seen a few movies, too, and road trips in a tin can never ended well. Someone was likely to get injured, and it was even more likely to be _him_.

Joshua Spaulding, the dean of the fine arts department, was waiting for them at the small campus cinema. Funded by a healthy dose of grant money from the college, The Minerva was a popular place for the underground art scene.

They were meeting Joshua Spaulding, the dean of the fine arts department, outside of the campus cinema. Originally built in 1915, and currently funded by a healthy dose of grant money from the college, The Minerva was a shining example of the art deco movement of the early 20th century. Though still utilized for its original purpose, The Minerva had become quite a popular place for the underground art scene, and it was apparent that the artists on campus had a healthy admiration for its unique style. They had pulled out all of the stops to make her beauty shine for the festival. The pale yellow brick had been freshly scrubbed and the reflection of the sunlight was so brilliant, it was nearly blinding. A vibrant emerald marquee stood out from the front of the building, its ruby-red lettering announcing the commencement date of the festival. It jutted several feet out from the front of the building, offering a bit of shelter from the elements under the warm glow of small rows of recessed, twinkling lights. Bursts of violet, sapphire and tangerine were arranged in pots the exact shade of the marquee lettering and placed along the walk to The Minerva's entrance. It was a colorful snapshot of history, and the man standing in front of it couldn't have been more out of place.

Jane had expected to find a man who could tell Jackson Pollock from preschool finger-painting, but Joshua Spaulding was no such man. In fact, Jane suspected he had never once set foot in a museum. He was a wormy man and judging by the bulky cut of his suit, had never so much as _spoken_ to a tailor. His position within the fine arts department was political and not at all related to his interests. Jane continued to cast an apprising eye; Spaulding had "yes-man" written all over him. His balding head glistened in the hot sun as he forced himself to shake hands, all while avoiding eye contact.

After a brief introduction and a general guarantee that the FBI would do their best to find Dr. Keller's killer, Spaulding shuffled out to attend to a campus-wide administrators meeting regarding the recent murder.

With the annual film festival set to launch the next evening, The Minerva was in a state of organized chaos. Student workers ran about while some volunteers shouted out directions and others cursed loudly, pounding fists on the glass countertop of the concession stand. The general atmosphere was harried, except for a couple half-baked kids munching on day-old popcorn. As Lisbon tried to find out from them who was in charge, Jane watched a young blonde girl nervously hoist her book bag on her shoulder and tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She scooped up a stack of programs, her eyes darting around the crowded lobby one final time before she slipped out the double doors. Jane frowned and leaned back, watching as she crossed the street and went into a café. He turned his attention back to Lisbon, who was growing more and more frustrated with the two stoners. After a flash of her badge, they finally pointed down a narrow hall to a back room serving as the primary festival hub.

Maggie Santos, Keller's graduate assistant and film festival supervisor, scribbled on large boxes of festival t-shirts with a thick black marker. Despite her petite frame, she lifted one of the boxes with ease and stacked it on a wire rack.

"Dr. Keller was wonderful. All of the students loved him. He'd hang out with them when he could, go to events. He was cool, even though his specialization was kinda out there. He studied pre-Code Hollywood," Maggie marked another box and hoisted it without breaking a sweat.

"Pre-_what _now?" Lisbon scrunched up her face.

"Movies before the Hays Code went into effect in 1934," Jane offered, his hands shoved into his pockets as he surveyed the array of film canisters and faded movie posters. "It was basically a morality checklist written by a Jesuit priest and a couple of Catholics. Studios went along with it because they were afraid of even stricter government intervention."

Maggie nodded emphatically while Lisbon raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing.

"Dr. Keller preferred those films. He thought they were a sign of true art, back before forced censorship." Maggie leaned in and whispered, conspiratorially, though no one else was around. "Some of those movies, not to mention the people making them, needed to be censored. It was scandalous, and a free-for-all. No rules."

"Like a cinematic Wild West!"

"Sort of, I guess." Maggie frowned, not seeing the connection. "But lately, he was more interested in the even earlier stuff—the Lumières brothers, Méliès, all those early filmmakers. He even developed a new award for this year's festival, _The Georgie_, named after George Sanfield. It's to go to the best cinematography."

"George Sanfield?" Jane paused.

"He's a bit of a local legend. He was born in Athens, but his family moved up north to New York. He developed the single lens camera back in the early days when Edison had his hands on everything. Rumor has it that he and Edison had a huge argument. Sanfield was trying to get a patent for his lens before Edison could swipe it. But, as the legend goes, he disappeared off a train going between New York and San Francisco three days before the World's Fair in 1894.

"Dr. Keller said Sanfield should've been regaled more instead of being forgotten and lost in the shadows of Edison. He saw the award as his way of helping get Sanfield's name back in the books. He told me he was on to something that would change the tapestry of what we know about early cinema. It was going to be Dr. Keller's lasting contribution to the festival." Suddenly, Maggie looked teary-eyed. It was the first bit of emotion she'd shown in regard to her dead professor.

"What about the property up the hill where Dr. Keller was found? Any reason he'd be up there?"

She wiped a stray tear and thought for a moment, collecting herself.

"Dean Spaulding was lobbying to move the fine arts department out there, including the film school. We're kind of in cramped quarters, as it is."

"So, Keller would go out there frequently with Spaulding?" Lisbon asked as Jane began to roam around the room again. He ran his fingers over several film canisters before a particularly rusty canister caught his eye. His fingers curled into the seam where the two halves met—

"Don't touch that!" Maggie bolted in his direction. "It was part of Dr. Keller's research. He wanted to screen it at the opening night party."

"Oh, an exciting new blockbuster?" Jane jumped back, feigning delight.

"I don't know. I haven't been able to look at it. I just can't seem to bring myself to see what it is." She clutched the canister to her chest.

"Of course," Lisbon offered, her tone gentle. "What can you tell us about Dr. Keller's visits to the property on the hill, particularly the old Athens County Asylum? Did he and Spaulding go there often?"

"Not that I'd heard. I know he liked to go out there himself. He said he thought there was something interesting about the place, said it had an untapped history and he was going to uncover it. But that was Dr. Keller, always looking for lost things."

"Like George Sanfield?" Jane added.

"Yes, exactly. But I think he just didn't want to see it for what it was—an old run down asylum. A lot of the production students like to use it for a backdrop in their films." Maggie shivered. "I think it's too…"

"Macabre?" Jane supplied.

"_Creepy_."

"Ah," Jane nodded before abruptly turning to Lisbon. "Well, I'd say that just about sums it up."

"We'll be in touch, but if you remember anything that might be helpful, please contact us," Lisbon handed the young woman her card before she turned to leave. Jane quickly fell in stride with Lisbon, his hand against the small of her back.

Once outside, Jane surveyed the long strip of road, noting the many shops, restaurants, and bars. The college kid's haven.

"What do you think?" Lisbon squinted, then raised a hand to shield her eyes against the sun.

"Eh. Something doesn't seem right. If he was as great as he apparently was, he'd have been back in Austin teaching at a top school, not sequestered out in this vastness." He rolled his eyes. "Something else was up."

"Any idea what that might be?"

"All in due time, Lisbon. All in due time."

"You could just say _no_," she grumbled. He ignored her, running his hands down his lapels.

"I'm hungry, are you hungry? It's been hours since we ate." He led her across the street to a cafe called The Cattle Prod. The place seemed to be quite popular, with nearly every table swarmed by frazzled-looking students, their faces glued to laptops and textbooks. After ordering an earl grey tea, a drip coffee, and two club sandwiches, they found a small table at the back of the cafe.

"How do you know so much about this stuff?" Lisbon asked as she took a sip of her coffee.

"The movin' pictures?" Jane winked and quickly swallowed a bite of his sandwich. "I always found that stuff interesting. It came out of parlor tricks and magic shows." Jane made the toothpick from his club sandwich disappear from his hand, then reached over the table and pulled a small pink rose bud from behind her ear. She raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at a corner of her lips. "Both of which were my bread and butter, as you know."

"How long have you been holding on to that?"

"Few hours, since I picked up the violets. I'm surprised it didn't get squashed." He tucked it back in her hair, as his fingers coasted along the shell of her ear. She leaned into his hand, as a soft blush played along the slope of her cheeks.

"Not here, Jane," she whispered, her eyes wide and dark.

"We're two adults surrounded by college students in the throes of midterms. We could make out and they wouldn't notice." He waggled his eyebrows. "Wanna test my theory?"

She dropped a kiss on his palm before she straightened back up. "We're on the clock. You know the rules."

"And you know how I feel about _rules_."

"Solve this case in a timely fashion and I just might let you break one of those rules…within reason."

"Oh, Lisbon! You know I can't refuse a bet, especially when the stakes are so appealing_._"

"It's not a bet, and I said _within reason_, Jane." She tried to keep her voice firm, but the wicked gleam in his eye made it difficult.

Next to them sat the young, blonde student Jane had seen sneak from the cinema earlier. She stood up abruptly and sent a cascade of loose-leaf paper and glossy pamphlets to the floor. Ever the gentleman, Jane leaned over and scooped up a handful of papers. The majority had fallen against her book bag, and Jane noted it was covered in various badges and pins for numerous clubs and activities. Flustered and surprised, she tucked her long hair behind her ears.

"Oh! I'm so clumsy. Thank you." Before she could yank the papers from Jane's hand, he gingerly lifted a pamphlet. The cover was muted and slick, the page filled with the sketch of a man with his eye pressed against a movie camera. It was exactly the same as the posters Maggie Santos had rolled up.

"Athens Community Film Festival?" He thumbed through the program. "Opening night's tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Yeah," the young woman nodded as she reorganized her spilled notes. "I volunteered to hand those out, drop them off at different places. Not really my thing, but, you know."

"Not a fan of movies?" Jane cast a glance at Lisbon, his tone playfully incredulous.

"Oh, no, I like movies well enough. But I don't really have time for them anymore. Double majoring sort of took up all my free time." She shrugged a shoulder.

"I'm Patrick Jane, this is Teresa Lisbon." Lisbon gave a half wave, her lips pressed together as Jane continued on. "Double majoring, huh? That's a pretty big feat. What are you studying?"

"Uh, Tara Prince." She tucked another errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Engineering and biology."

"My, my! On their own, those are heavy topics, but a double major! And I bet your grades are perfect." She was visibly pleased by his compliment. "So, why the interest in a film festival?"

"My advisor recommended I add in a couple easy credit hours."

"Plus, free popcorn, right?" He gave her a bright smile. "Did you happen to know Professor Keller? Shame about him."

"He ran the festival, but we never really talked. His assistant deals with the volunteers."

He fanned through the pages of the program, as if deep in thought, before tapping it against his palm.

"Enlightening! Well, Tara, keep those grades up, but try to find a moment to yourself. Get your head on straight before those finals. I recommend yoga. Or a stiff drink—what year were you born?" He spoke quickly, changing the direction of his questions.

"1995." She hesitated, confused.

"There you go, can't legally get a drink. Yoga it is!" Jane tucked the program in his inside jacket pocket and stood. "Be well."

He gathered up the remnants of lunch as Lisbon got them both a drink refill. "Oh! One last thing—your father, he's proud of you?"

"He's dead. Died when I was six." She blinked again, clearly confused by his questioning.

"Ah, I'm sure he'd have been proud of you. Most dads are." He gave a warm smile and turned to follow Lisbon.

Outside the cafe, Lisbon handed over his refilled cup of tea.

"OK, what was that about?"

The sun was bright with no nearby shade. He turned his face to the sky, enjoying the warmth.

"Just making idle conversation."

"You don't make idle conversation, now spill."

"She's double majoring in two highly competitive, science-y fields and she doesn't like movies. But, she likes them enough to put a pin on her book bag—one of those old timey camera setups. If she doesn't like movies, why would she have that pin?"

"Maybe it's not her book bag, maybe it was a hand-me down. Maybe she just _liked _the pin, did you think of that?"

"Meh, I doubt it.

"She barely interacted with Keller, you heard her. She only deals with Maggie."

"Eh, a technicality." Jane sipped his tea. "She was too full of earnestness."

"She was full of earnestness, so she must be lying? That doesn't even make sense."

"Plus, I noticed her at the theater while we were there. There was something about her that seemed… _odd_."

"Odd?" Lisbon repeated, a touch of amusement in her tone. "You think a college-age girl is odd so she must be a suspect?"

"You're catching on." He slipped his hand to the small of her back, drumming his fingers against her hip before she could step away and tell him about the _rules_. "We should go check out the crime scene."

xXx

The crime scene was a bust, having been swept and cleared by the local LEOs days before their arrival. To his dismay, there was no fresh evidence to destroy. The adjacent building was magnificent and full of character, with crumbling porticos and long, water-stained windows.

Jane dragged Lisbon around the perimeter of the building, kicked at the crumbling foundation bricks and tap-danced across its weathered wooden steps.

"Is there a point to this, or are you just exploring your rediscovered interest in architecture?"

"Maggie said Keller came up here frequently and that he'd found something that would 'change the tapestry' of film history." Jane waggled his fingers in the air and rolled his eyes. "Which is academic malarkey if there ever was such."

"You think he found it up here?" Lisbon cast an incredulous look around at the sun-scorched grass and dilapidated buildings.

"I think he found it in _there_." Jane poked at one of the windows and Lisbon stopped in her tracks.

"Whatever you're thinking, you can stop thinking it. We are not going in some rundown building without clearance… or hazmat suits and about fifteen vaccines."

"C'mon Lisbon, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I may not know a lot about movies, but I know this: when people go into a creepy, abandoned building without backup, something awful happens."

"If something awful happens you can always jump into my arms."

"I think you've got it backwards, Buck-o."

"I'm choosing to ignore that comment."

"We're not going in there."

xXx

Two hours later, a dusty and dirty Lisbon collapsed on the equally dusty and dirty comforter of her motel bed. The motel consisted of a little strip of rooms off of the highway, and the level of cleanliness gave the Athens County Asylum a run for its money. It didn't matter because every inch of her skin felt sweaty and filthy. She was sure she'd been exposed to asbestos or dormant smallpox, or maybe pneumonia—how long did pneumonia survive? Was that even possible?

Three minutes after she sprawled out on the bed, Jane followed suit, landing in a groaning heap next to her. Without comment, she slugged him in the arm and he nodded as if he expected no less.

The trip into the crumbling building had been just as pointless as Lisbon had anticipated. As Jane dragged her through the first floor, she had shivered at the grotesque sight of peeling paint on water-stained walls and cracked floor tiles. The walls were covered with remnants of arts and crafts projects, construction paper clippings curling off of decaying surfaces. The air was thick with cobwebs and dust motes. Beer cans, liquor bottles, and drug paraphernalia littered the main ballroom. Clearly, the building was a popular escape for the college kids down the hill.

It had taken them twenty minutes to find the room that had once served as the records storage area. The facility had closed in the 1980s during the deinstitutionalization of psychiatric hospitals, and most of the records were still in boxes. Lisbon had grimaced and tried not to think about the implications of a state-funded institution failing to properly dispose of patients' records. The boxes were all damaged and the writing illegible, but Jane had seemed to be on the hunt for something specific and had zeroed in on the first box he could reach, its lid already on the floor.

He had shuffled through it with the light of his phone before he triumphantly grabbed a handful of old papers, the pages stuck together. Lisbon had cringed as he shoved the papers into his jacket pocket, and wondered what kind of infestation he was now carrying. He had then dragged her further into the bowels of the records room, offering up placating words whenever she wrinkled her nose. Finally, after they had traipsed through the floor for over an hour, he agreed to leave. Lisbon had bolted for the nearest exit without a second glance, beating Jane back to the SUV.

Now, resting on the bed, every muscle in her back ached. She swung her legs down and pulled herself up in one quick movement. Curious, Jane leaned up on his elbows and watched as she gathered up her toiletries and pajamas.

"I'm taking the longest, hottest shower possible. And _no_, you are not joining me." Jane collapsed back down to the bed. "If you're really lucky, there might be some hot water left when I'm done. But I wouldn't count on it."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"You could go shower in _your_ room, since we booked two." Booking two rooms while out on a case was another one of Lisbon's pesky rules.

"Eh, too far."

"It's across the hall."

"Exactly."

Without another word, Lisbon shut the bathroom door. Jane realized it would be in his best interest to shower in his own room, despite the distance. Her threat to use all of the hot water had been very real.

Fifteen minutes later, Jane returned to Lisbon's room to find her sitting cross-legged on the top sheet of the bed, pillows stacked behind her back. She was wearing a pink pair of boxers and a white tank top, her wet hair pulled up in a haphazard knot. She'd dumped the filthy comforter on the floor. Notes and papers were spread out in front of her, but Jane could only focus on her soft, creamy skin. No doubt, she had slathered on that vanilla honey lotion she preferred. It reminded him of his favorite tea, sweet and comforting. His fingers twitched as he tried to think of the quickest way to distract her from the case, from her _rules_. After her shower, she had forgone a bra. Surely, that meant they were off the clock. Lisbon, engrossed in the case file, was oblivious to his predicament.

"I ordered pizza. It's supposed to be the best in the state." She didn't look up from the manila folder as she spoke.

"I'm sure it is." He sat on the bed and reached for a stack of notes, letting his arm brush against her. A moment later, he grabbed for a pen, his fingers teasing along her soft, bent knee. After the third _accidental_ touch, Lisbon smirked.

"You're not as subtle as you like to think."

"Oh, that was me being obvious."

"Well, in that case, it's no wonder it took us so long to get to this point." She quirked an eyebrow and he clutched his chest.

"Ohhh, direct hit off the starboard bow."

She laughed, kicking the papers to the floor and pulling him down for a kiss. She hummed happily as he ran his hands against her sides, and soon her hum turned to a shiver as he softened his touch, ghosting his fingers over her skin. She tightened her hold on him, relishing in the feel of his weight against her. She gave a faint growl as he broke their kiss and ran his lips along her neck, nipped his teeth at her collarbone. She arched up into him, and it was his turn to growl. Her fingers tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head in one swoop. In recent months, he'd developed a new appreciation for her no-nonsense efficiency.

The thin cotton of her tank top left little to his imagination. Jane could see the clear outline of her breasts through the material. Her eyes were wide and dark as he took a nipple in his mouth while he glanced his thumb over the other. She moaned sweetly and dug her fingers into his hair, holding him to task. Her sighs and moans continued as her hips shifted up to meet him. He gently ran his teeth over her neglected breast and felt her body begin to tense. His hand coasted down to the waistband of her shorts, and he sought her out with gently coaxing fingers.

He grew harder as she ran her nails through his curls, keeping him close to her breast. He continued to nip and suck, and a moment later, she came with a softly keening moan. As she calmed, he held her, and a memory of that morning played through his mind. Of waking her up under the teasing ministrations of his hands and lips, of pushing her over the edge as the sky turned a milky hue, of her rolling him to his back and sliding her body over his in one fluid move. Now, languid in his arms once again, her eyes focused on him and he dropped a kiss to her nose.

"Don't look so smug." She pretended to be annoyed.

"I'm just saying, we've had a very productive day," he teased, then tensed as her hands began to roam. "Play nice," he growled.

"Oh, I plan on playing _very_ nice." She slipped her fingers along the elastic of his plaid pajama bottoms and he dropped his head to her neck. Before she could go any further, there was a knock on the motel door.

"Shit," he hissed, nipping her neck.

"Pizza's here." Lisbon chuckled as she pushed Jane off and hopped out of bed. He groaned into the pillows then propped himself up on an elbow.

"Are you planning on answering the door like that?" Her tank top was noticeably damp from his mouth.

"I don't think you're in any shape to answer the door, do you?" She replied archly, tugging on his discarded t-shirt.

"Now who's smug?" He called after her, and grinned as her laughter echoed back to him.

They ate pizza so greasy oil pooled on the paper plates. Sauce dripped down her chin and he leaned over and kissed the corner of her mouth. The pizza was good, but the marketing was over-selling it as "the best" in the entire state.

"Oh!" Lisbon leaned down to the floor and grabbed a notepad. "Cho called while you were in the shower. He said Keller had recently met up with an old friend from graduate school, a Jason Anderson. Both he and Jason had applied and interviewed for the position at the college five years ago. They apparently had a heated discussion outside the cinema two nights before his murder."

"Alibi?"

"He was in Austin, his girlfriend corroborated."

"Did Anderson say what the argument was about?"

"Some controversial, never-before-seen movie Anderson wanted Keller to show at the festival. They were arguing about it."

"Hmm." He munched on a second slice of pizza, deep in thought.

"Care to elaborate?"

"I don't think this is job related—well, I think it _is_, but it _isn't_. I don't think Anderson's our killer."

Lisbon looked at him, waiting for him to continue—if she let the showman have the floor, he'd eventually get to the point.

"I think he stumbled on to something up at the institution." Jane slid out of bed and moved to the small table where he had stashed the weather-damaged papers from the records room.

"Do _not _come any closer with those. I don't want any of that near this bed."

"But you can't see it from over there."

"I'm OK with that."

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I believe Keller discovered a break in the mystery of George Sanfield's disappearance."

"Sanfield was on a train going from New York to San Francisco. Why would he end up in Texas?" Lisbon blotted the grease from another slice of pizza.

"He was a local boy, made good. He was returning home to visit. Most likely to rub his success in someone's face. Wouldn't you?"

"He disappeared off the train and you think he ended up back here?"

"Not just _here_, but the Athens County Asylum!" Jane grinned, an excited boyish gleam in his eye.

"Did you inhale something in that building? Too much dust and crud?"

"Lisbon, these papers are proof."

"Sanfield disappeared in 1894. He did not disappear off a train only to end up institutionalized in Texas."

"According to what I can make out of these papers a Sanfield was institutionalized around 1894. So, dear Lisbon, these papers say differently."

"Oh, really?"

"Well, not these papers exactly. These papers only really tell half a story, they're far too smudged. I can _infer_ the rest, sure, but whatever papers Keller found will tell the rest of it."

"That's a stretch, even for you. Is it because of our bet? Are you trying to rush this case so you can break one of the rules?"

"I thought you said it wasn't a bet," he raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"It isn't."

"Then I have no reason to rush this case. Besides, I'd like to think I broke one of those rules not even an hour ago."

"Careful, or that's the only chance you'll get."

"Meh, you don't scare me Agent Lisbon." He stepped closer.

"Those papers stay on that side of the room." Jane dropped the papers back to the table without another comment and unceremoniously dumped the pizza box and discarded plates. He tugged the covers back and crawled into bed.

"That's enough shop talk, Teresa." Jane dropped kisses to her mouth and nose, across her cheekbones, down her throat.

"Mmm, I agree," Lisbon sighed as she leaned up to turn off the lamp. "I'm pretty worn out. Today was _exhausting_." Jane pulled back and stared at her as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his jaw dropping slightly. With a soft laugh, she pushed him back down to the bed and swung a leg over his body, her knees pressed against his sides.

"You had me for a second there, Lisbon."

"Let the record show that I, Special Agent Teresa Lisbon, finally got one over on the great Patrick Jane."

Jane tugged her down to him and smiled. "Let the record show, this most definitely was not the first time you got one over on me." He ran the pad of his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips, his heart in his eyes.

"Are you being sweet right now?"

"Depends—is it gonna get me lucky?"

"Hmmm, _most definitely_." Lisbon leaned back and tugged her tank top over her head in one fluid move as Jane's warm hands ran up her back and pulled her down. The moonlight that shined through the slatted blinds made her skin glow, and suddenly Jane felt full of love for this beautiful woman who had saved him countless times—from mad men and from himself. She must've sensed the change in mood, as she straightened up and gave him a wary look. "What?"

He gently tugged on a loose tendril of her hair, running the strands between his finger and thumb.

"Oh, nothing. Just that I love you, s'all." The words still felt strange when he said them, even though he enjoyed saying them, and would say them to her every day that he could. He would mean those words until his last breath. Sometimes, he was surprised by his luck. To have this woman _still _by his side, through everything he had done, _despite_ everything he had done… It made his heart stutter daily.

"Oh." Her voice was soft and gentle in that way he secretly loved. It usually meant he'd caught her by surprise. "Is that all?"

"Yeah," he sealed his words with a kiss. "That's all."

They didn't speak again for quite a while.

xXx

The next morning, after a quick breakfast of chocolate croissants and coffee, Jane convinced Lisbon to return to The Minerva to speak with Maggie Santos. The graduate assistant seemed calmer than she had during their visit the previous day, directing student workers and organizing film canisters. She appeared to relish mastering chaos. Even her ponytail looked tamed.

"You think Dr. Keller was murdered because of George Sanfield?" Maggie furrowed her brow. "That's ridiculous! Sanfield's been dead over a hundred years."

"Yes," Jane nodded, rolling up on his toes. "The statute of limitations undoubtedly has run out to prosecute _his _killer."

"That's not all that's run out," Lisbon muttered and Jane winked.

"I don't understand." Maggie glanced between the two of them. "You think Dr. Keller was murdered because of a local legend?"

"I think Dr. Keller was about to uncover the truth behind Sanfield's disappearance and it got him killed. We'll know better once we find his notebook." Lisbon shot him a look, though years of experience told her to go along with whatever tale he was about to spin.

"Notebook?" Maggie ran a hand through her ponytail and then crossed her arms over her chest. Before Jane could comment, the young blonde student from the cafe entered the projector room, her arms full of folders and programs.

"Ah, Tara! Lovely to see you again! How goes the double-majoring?" Surprised to find Jane and Lisbon at the cinema, her smile faltered.

"Great, thanks."

"Tara, tell me, have you seen Dr. Keller's notebook anywhere?" Jane drummed his fingers on a film canister set aside for the recycle pile and Tara leaned forward, her eyes following the cadence of his movement. He watched something spark in her eye—something peculiar.

Maggie nodded at Jane and Lisbon. "These FBI agents are investigating Dr. Keller's death."

"FBI?" Tara dropped the stack of folders on a nearby table.

"Didn't I mention that yesterday? Hmm, yes, well. Tell me, did you ever see Dr. Keller's notebook?" He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and she relaxed. _Interesting_.

"What sort of notebook?"

"It's a standard notebook. Green. Apparently Dr. Keller kept all his research notes in a green notebook. Always a green notebook, for as long as his colleague had known him." Jane shrugged. "Some people are pretty eccentric."

The two students frowned.

"No, I'd never seen Dr. Keller with a green notebook."

"Me either," Tara added.

"Ah," Jane turned to Tara, "but I thought you didn't really speak with Dr. Keller?"

"I didn't, but I saw him around."

"But not with a notebook?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"_Jane,_" Lisbon interrupted, growing annoyed.

"Hmm," he gave her a brief nod. "That's strange, why would his friend say he had a notebook? Well, we'll just need to keep looking for it I guess. Maybe go through his desk again, check those back bottom drawers again. Hmm. Let us know if it turns up. Oh! And there's a party tonight, right? An opening night party?"

Maggie nodded, still thinking about the notebook.

"Great! We'll be there!" He led Lisbon out to the street before the graduate student could protest.

"OK, care to tell me what _that_ was about? Cho never said anything about Keller documenting his research."

"Ah, yeah, we need to stop somewhere and pick up a green notebook"

"Of course," she said, dryly. "An imaginary notebook is supposed to help solve the case?"

"Sure! The killer thinks Keller's discovery died with him. If we plant a seed of doubt, that maybe Keller documented his findings, the killer—"

"Will want to find and destroy the notebook." Lisbon nodded, catching on.

"Exactly." Jane tapped his nose, a playful gesture that made her smile.

"But how do we get the notebook in front of the killer?"

"Easy, Cho and Fischer plant it in Keller's office at The Minerva."

"In one of those bottom desk drawers you mentioned earlier?" Lisbon smiled, and then her brow furrowed in confusion. "Hang on, Cho and Fischer are here? Since when?"

"Called them while you were in the shower this morning. Thought they should be here for the action. Well, that, and Spaulding knows something he isn't telling. I could do my _thing_ but five minutes alone with stoic Cho and he'll sing like a canary." Jane smiled brightly in anticipation. He always enjoyed watching suspects crack under Cho's steady gaze. It was a thing of beauty.

Cho and Fischer were waiting at the local police station, having brought Spaulding in for questioning. Cho worked his magic in the interrogation room while the other three watched from behind the glass.

"Did you kill Malcolm Keller?" Cho leaned his elbows on the metal table, his hands clasped together casually. The other man sputtered and shifted in his seat, his oily face turning purple.

"No!" Spaulding barked, and pulled his hands back from the table, leaving behind sweaty palm prints.

"But you knew Keller was going up to the site, digging around. Afraid of what he might find?"

"Yes, I mean no!" Spaulding shifted again, his feet now firmly on the floor. He leaned over the table. "I knew he went up there, yes, but I wasn't afraid of what he'd find. I was afraid of what you all might find, snooping around."

"What were you afraid _we'd_ find?" Cho tilted his head until he was eye-level with the other man.

"This deal has been ten years in the making—longer, really." Spaulding's voice grew shrill. "And Keller was up there all the time. He'd spend whole days up there! He had no qualms about breaking and entering. I was worried if the Feds found out about Keller's snooping around, it'd open a whole new can of worms and delay the project. I have the entire fine arts department pushing me to finalize this acquisition, and Keller goes and gets murdered up there?"

"Yeah," Cho leaned back. "Keller clearly didn't think that through."

The other man drummed his fingers on the table. Cho gave the man one final look before standing and heading to the viewing room.

"He's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's definitely not the killer. He couldn't kill a fly-he'd be too afraid it might affect that property acquisition," Jane hummed and tapped his finger to his lips. "But I think I have an excellent idea on how to get our killer to reveal themselves."

"How?" Fischer piped up, her tone cautious.

"All in due time. But first, I need you and Cho to drop something off at The Minerva." He rocked on his heels, his smile wide as he mentally ran through his plan. "Oh! And I need one of those film canister things, some film, and paint—any color will do. And then, we have an opening party to attend!"

Lisbon eyed him warily, but he just winked as the team split up to prepare for the evening's festivities.

xXx

"So, Lisbon, care to share with the class why you don't like movies?" Jane stepped from the bathroom in their hotel room, his hair still damp from the shower and his face freshly shaved.

He studied her as she got ready for the party, noting she was wearing his favorite emerald green blouse under a lovely dark blazer.

"Who said I don't like movies? I like movies just fine." She slipped on diamond stud earrings and gave a shrug.

"But not old movies." He'd noticed her wrinkle her nose as she thumbed through the festival program during lunch, stopping at the day of programming set aside for silent movies.

"There are _some _old movies I like more than others." She took a deep breath and he found himself leaning in, sensing that whatever came next was important to her. "My mom loved Cary Grant. So sometimes, around holidays usually, I watch Cary Grant movies."

"Ah," Jane took her hand in his and pulled her to him, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "I see."

"So it's not that I _don't _like old movies, I just haven't seen a whole lot. Mom and I were going to spend that summer renting what she thought were classics while Dad took the boys on camping trips… and whatever else boys like."

"You would've liked those things, too." He ran his thumb over her cheek.

"Sure, but I liked the idea of spending time with my mom more." Her voice hitched and he felt something in his chest crack. He pulled her into his arms and held her, relishing that he could now offer her comfort and she would accept it.

"We should go meet up with Fischer and Cho." She wiped at her eyes, mindful of her mascara, and stepped back. "By the way, Fischer is still giving me the watchful eye. I don't know why she expects me to break first and not you."

Rationally, he knew she was teasing, but after their shared moment, he suddenly felt bereft. He didn't want to sneak around anymore—not that what they were doing was _sneaking_. It was a lie by omission. He had no doubt if he put it that way to Lisbon she would laugh in his face, pointing out the number of times he'd tricked her into lying and doing his bidding. He felt his frustration and anxiety bubble up and spill out of his mouth before he could stop the words.

"Would it be terrible if she knew? If everyone just _knew_?" To his own ears, he sounded desperate and Lisbon must have heard it too. She stopped immediately and looked at him with large eyes, her fingers encircling his wrist.

"It took us so long to get here, Patrick." Her voice was soft and he felt foolish. "I don't want to have to share it with anyone else. I just want it to be ours a little while longer. Is that so terrible?"

"Ah, well, when you put it like that, especially with those pleading doe-eyes."

"I am _not _giving you doe-eyes."

"Oh, I'm not knocking it. It's always worked well in the past." He dropped another kiss to her lips.

"Oh, please." She gave a brief smile, but quickly turned serious. "You know I love you, right?"

"Is this your way of telling me you're not ashamed of me?" He meant it to sound playful, but Lisbon's expression grew serious as she pressed her hands against his lapel.

"I've _never _been ashamed of you. Even when you've made my life hell, even when you've done the stupidest, most careless things. Even after," she stopped and appeared to struggle with her thoughts. Suddenly, she looked up at him, her expression stunned. "Even after that whole mess with _him..._" All these years, and she still couldn't bring herself to voice his name aloud, but he knew immediately what she wasn't saying. _Even when you killed a man with your bare hands and ran for two years_. Her acceptance of what he'd done felt like an absolution—one he hadn't realized he'd needed. It was the last of things they'd left unsaid. Oh, how he loved this woman. It must have shown on his face, because she pulled herself up on her toes and kissed him fiercely. "Now, c'mon, it's time to go do something ridiculously over the top and reveal a killer."

Yes, he definitely loved this woman.

xXx

The opening night party at The Minerva was a glamorous affair for such a small college town. There was a nice spread of finger foods and drinks. The popcorn machines were overflowing, the thick scent of butter hung heavily in the air. Groups of guests stood around, discussing what they were planning to see during the upcoming week, and picking apart what reviews they'd read. It was all quite electrifying.

The lights flickered and dimmed, signaling it was time to find seats for the opening ceremony. Jane flashed a grin and rubbed his hands together.

"Show time!" He disappeared into the steady stream of people as his teammates followed a few steps behind.

Once the audience found their seats, Maggie Santos stepped on stage, joined by several festival volunteers, including Tara. Clad in a light blue dress, with her shiny dark hair pinned back, Maggie looked like a woman in her element. As she thanked everyone for attending, Jane bounded up to the stage.

"Let's give a round of applause for Maggie Santos!" He shouted, clapping loudly and motioning for the audience to join in. Her flummoxed expression quickly turned to one of simmering anger. No doubt, she was furious at Jane for ruining her moment.

"She's done such a wonderful job, taking over the reins after Dr. Keller's unfortunate murder." Using the crowd's applause as a distraction, he slipped the microphone from Maggie's hand. The team moved closer to the stage, with Cho ready to pounce on anyone who got out of hand.

"And as his graduate assistant, Maggie thought it would be a wonderful idea to open the festival with a tribute to Dr. Keller and the great impact he recently made to cinematic history. His findings weren't published. In fact, they seem to have gone missing. Lucky for us, we can still celebrate his fine contributions to this festival." Jane made an exaggerated sweeping gesture with his arm, shifting his jacket and causing the papers stuffed in his inside pocket to scatter on the floor. He spotted the killer nervously shift on stage as they caught a glimpse of the words "Athens County Asylum" across the top of the weathered documents.

"Dr. Keller loved old mysteries. I'm a fan of mysteries, myself, and have solved quite a few. But Keller uncovered the truth behind the mystery of George Sanfield's disappearance—an event that occurred over 120 years ago! That's a great feat! _Amazing_." Jane looked out into the audience and spotted Lisbon who waved her hand before crossing her arms. He knew that gesture all too well. _Hurry it up. _

"According to this document Keller found," Jane held up a worn piece of paper, "Sanfield was murdered. Well, we pretty much assumed that, right? No one disappears from a train without something diabolical happening. According to Dr. Keller's research, Sanfield's money-hungry uncle murdered him and buried him in the backyard. His daughter, Sanfield's cousin, Cora, couldn't take the deceit. She wanted to turn her father over to the authorities, so he locked her up in the asylum. Not a difficult act back in the day, honestly."

"I don't understand," Maggie spoke up. "Why did his uncle kill him?"

"The patent dispute with Edison. Edison offered Sanfield's family a sizable chunk of money if they kept him from filing his patent claim. So, when visiting the ol' homestead before heading out West to the World Fair, Sanfield's family off'd him. Lovely bunch."

Maggie frowned and Jane rolled his shoulders.

"Anyway, enough of that grim tale. Today we're here to celebrate George Sanfield and honor Dr. Keller. And what better way to do both than by showing Sanfield's last known film, discovered in the belly of the ol' Athens County Asylum! It's a bit watermarked and damaged, but hey, that happens." Jane shielded his eyes and looked up at the projection room. "Roll it!"

The room dimmed and the sharp crackle of well-worn celluloid running through a projector echoed through the room. However, instead of footage from the turn of the century, the celluloid was clear. Just as the audience grew restless and confused, the words "Sanfield killed Keller" ticked over and over on the screen, smeared on the film in thick finger paint.

A gasp rippled through the theater as people shuffled in their seats.

"Sanfield?" Maggie spoke up. "What is going on? What does that even mean?"

"Ah, I'm not sure…" Jane turned to look at the volunteers on stage, his eyes falling on Tara as she hoisted her slipping book bag up on her shoulder. "Perhaps you'd care to explain?"

"Me?" Tara stepped back.

"Well, yes, because you killed Malcolm Keller." The gasps grew louder. "Your last name isn't Prince—it's Sanfield. You're a descendent of George Sanfield."

"Why would she kill Dr. Keller?" Maggie spun around as Cho edged up onto the stage, eyes on Tara.

"And lose all that money? Someone in the family was smart enough to come up with a plan to murder Georgie and commit Cora. They were also smart enough to get a piece of that patent _on top_ of whatever money Edison's henchmen doled out."

"That's ridiculous." Tara took another step back.

"You didn't know about the family secret until Keller started to dig around." Jane moved forward, his gaze locked on her face. "You didn't know that the family money was tainted, but once you found out, you couldn't risk anyone _else_ finding out. You thought your secret died with him, until we told you he had written everything down in a notebook. Totally fake, by the way."

Tara visibly paled. "F-fake? What do you mean?"

Jane rolled his eyes. "Really? We're the FBI. Did you really think we wouldn't be thorough enough to find a notebook in a desk drawer with a false bottom? Sheesh. And you're double-majoring? It was bogus. A phony. A red-herring, if you will. Meant to lull you into a false sense of security while we gathered the real evidence." With that, he once again produced the papers in his jacket pocket. "It was right there in front of you all the time, you just didn't know where to look."

Tara stared at him, eyes wide, breathing heavily. "You're lying."

"You followed him up to the property, where he had the film canister—Sanfield's last film. He'd discovered it, buried in the basement of the institution. He was excited about his find, wanted to share it with you, but you bashed his head in with it instead and then you hid it in plain sight among all the other rusty old film canisters. They were flagged for recycling after the festival, so hey, what better way to get ride of the murder weapon?"

Tara shook her head. "You can't prove any of that."

"After you practically _telegraphed_ your murderous ways this afternoon whenever I touched the rusty ol' film can, I asked my colleague Agent Cho to go back and check it out. Fancy his surprise to find it had disappeared. I imagine you snagged it right around the time you discovered the notebook in Keller's desk drawer, huh?" Jane moved closer to Tara, gesturing to her book bag. "That seems awfully heavy, what do you say we have a look?"

With that, Tara ran forward and attempted to jump off the stage. The agents tackled her to the ground. Fischer wrenched the book bag from the girl's grasp and with one swift yank of the zipper, pulled out a rusty film can and a crumpled notebook full of Jane's illegible scrawl.

"C'est fini," Jane said with a slight bow before jumping off the stage and following the team out.

xXx

The team returned to Austin the next morning, Cho and Fischer taking Tara Prince with them. Jane and Lisbon had taken their time driving back, stopping for lunch and enjoying the sights along the route. They'd arrived home well into the night, and immediately crawled into bed. Jane had curled up behind Lisbon and buried his nose in her hair.

In the early morning hours of Saturday, Jane woke before the sun, but let Lisbon keep sleeping. She looked beautiful and peaceful, her hair in a messy ponytail, her nightshirt falling off her shoulder. He placed a soft kiss on the slope of that shoulder before tucking the covers back around her. It was too early for the sun, but Jane knew Lisbon would wake soon, her internal clock set to cop-mode, even on weekends.

He managed to make a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee before Lisbon sleepily padded into the kitchen. Without a word, he handed her a large mug of coffee and kissed her temple before buttering a few slices of toast. He filled two plates and carried them to the living room, Lisbon quietly trailing behind.

"I'm not knocking it, but what's the occasion?" She finally spoke, glancing at their full plates of food as well as the piping hot mugs of coffee and tea. Pillows were tossed haphazardly around the sofa. Jane patted the empty spot next to him, beckoning Lisbon to sit.

"I thought we deserved a lazy Saturday," he said as she slid down next to him and tucked her legs under her body. He handed her a plate of food and turned on the television. "And it just so happens, there's a marathon on that classic movie channel—all seven of the _The Thin Man _movies." His eyes lit up and he wrapped a hand around her knee, tugging her legs against him before picking up his own plate.

"I've never seen those," she said, biting into a slice of bacon.

"You're gonna love 'em." He gave her a big smile as she snuggled against him, happy when she let out a soft laugh as Asta the dog dragged Nora into the bar, searching for Nick.

The sun was coming up and warming the morning sky, he had a hot cup of tea in his hand and the woman he loved curled against his side. Patrick Jane took in a deep breath. He bundled the moment together—the comforting scent of his breakfast tea, the witty repartee of the characters on the television as they flirted, the warmth of Teresa against his side—and tucked the memory of this wonderful Saturday morning away in his mind, along with all the wonderful memories he'd created since returning to the States.

Sensing he was staring at her, Lisbon tilted her head. "What?"

He gave a slight shrug and smiled. Then, leaning over, he kissed to the tip of her nose.

"The sun's come up."

— C'est Fini —

AN:

The story of George Sanfield is _loosely _based on Louis Le Prince, who disappeared from a train in France during a patent dispute with Thomas Edison. The rest of the film history stuff is true (and oranges really do foreshadow death in some movies). Also, Athens, Texas does exist but I couldn't tell you anything about it. Instead, I based it all on a different Athens and will give a gold star to the first reader with the correct guess.

A huge thank you to Sea for reading through an early draft and offering wonderful suggestions! And a second huge thank you to Michelle for her instrumental help in making this daunting casefic ship-shape, especially the culminating show down and all the spots I knew weren't working. The Minerva is all her vision—and rightfully so, since its name is rather fortuitous.

Thank you for reading! Comments are lovely.


End file.
